


Wolf Trap

by talverrar (orphan_account)



Series: Sparrow [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Artificing is very fun, F/M, Ida has a talent!, Jealousy, Lots of UST, POV Solas, UST, maybe later RST
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-03-21 15:23:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3697283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/talverrar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jealousy prompt. Lavellan really likes studying artificing. Solas is not amused.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wolf Trap

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone'd like to get in touch, give me a prompt or anything, I've got a sketchblog on tumblr: tal-verrar.

It wasn’t often that he had to specifically search for the Inquisitor himself. She’d somehow always find him first, as if instinctively knowing when he had something important to say. Coincidentally, he always had something to tell her - not that he was thinking of the possible topics in his past-time. Not consciously, at least.

She doesn’t pay him a visit for a few days and he grows… worried. That’s what it is. He doesn’t miss her, he’s simply wondering whether maybe something important prevents her from seeing him. Or if he had offended her in any way. Their last conversation was about the dalish. Maybe she isn’t as open-minded as he thought after all, if that was the case.

He gathers his notes (his _alibi_ , the treacherous corner of his brain whispers) and leaves the rotunda. Varric sends him a look and Solas doesn’t even have to open his mouth for him to say “Check the courtyard.”

The weather is nice. He is not sure if it happens here often, as he spends most of his time either away from Skyhold or in his office. The warmth of the sun feels pleasant on his skin, but the air is chilly as ever. There are many people outside, reading, talking or just basking in the sunlight, all of them dressed in furs or thick cloaks. Everyone, except for a pair sitting together on a blanket near the stables.

He instantly notices the Inquisitor, dressed in her favourite leather pants and a simple white blouse. She’s talking with an uncharacteristic enthusiasm to a man in velvet robes. They are surrounded with what looks like parts of some machinery, and are tinkering with something like a sophisticated version of a bear trap. He’s glad to see they are both wearing thick, leather gloves.

Something clicks in his mind then. It’s one of the mentors who have visited Skyhold to teach her their craft. He didn’t recognize the human without a hood covering most of his face. A quite handsome face, Solas admits reluctantly. And after that thought, the way their thighs are touching isn’t so innocent anymore. Neither is the general lack of distance between them. Or the way he’s talking to her with that gross, impish expression. Or how his head is so close to hers that Solas is sure the man can _smell her_.

He feels his nostrils flare and the wave of jealousy embarrasses him. He was never a possessive man. Never. He always pitied the people who are; it shows how little trust there is between them and their partners. But he and Ida are not together, and they certainly shouldn’t be. He is acting foolish. So foolish he doesn’t even notice how close to them he got. He can hear them perfectly now.

So enthralled in their conversation they are, they fail to even notice him. As if the rest of the word had vanished. His Inquisitor could be very passionate when interested in something, but until today, it was only him who was able to ignite that spark in her.

“Yes, but if I place a little spike here, I might be able to…”

“Ah, little bird, you need to decide whether you want to hurt them or distance yourself from them.”

"Preferably both,” she laughs. A loud sound, full of mischief, so different from the ones she offered him. The ones she shared with him were all soft, _shaky, flushed, mouth covered with a tiny hand, averted eyes, blush spreading from her face to her neck and lower..._

He felt a wave of heat in his stomach and a sharp coldness in his throat. This is ridiculous. She’s allowed to laugh however she wants, with whomever she wishes. This… infatuation of hers, of his, was not only distracting, it was useless, dangerous, heartbreak was inevitable and could possibly lead to her refusing to give him the foci out of spite. Her friendship is what he needs, cooperation, trust, not _her pretty eyes focused only on him at all times, her hands shaking slightly in his, her lips whispering his name, long eyelashes fluttering against his cheek…_

“Fenedhis, enough!” he barks, and the sudden silence is deafening. He feels his cheeks warming up.

They’re both staring at him with concerned expressions and wrinkled foreheads. The man’s hand is resting on her knee and he clenches his fists behind his back. His mouth forms a tight, single line. He should speak, but is afraid he’d growl instead.

Solas was never a possessive man. Fen’Harel, on the other hand…

“Is something the matter, Solas? Do you have,” Ida hesitates, “are there any more pressing matters than my training?”

I’d rather be pressing you to the mattress in your chamber right now, that treacherous brain of his murmurs, and he can feel his fingernails digging into the skin of his hands; he’ll soon have half-moon shaped wounds if this madness doesn’t stop.

“But we’ve only just begun,” the man protests and glances at an elaborate hourglass on his left. “Or rather it feels that way! My dear Inquisitor, we’ve been here for three hours already! Oh, but the time flies when you’re having fun!”

She smiles her usual, small smile in response. Her gaze is ( _where it’s supposed to be_ ) locked on him and he forces himself to relax enough to respond.

“I’m afraid the Inquisitor is disregarding her other duties. I do, of course, understand her thirst for knowledge, but there are things that need to be taken care of first.”

“At ten in the morning? Josephine surely has everything under control with all of our guests soundly asleep.” She tilts her head in a bird-like manner. His eyes dart to the view of her collarbones, muscles flexing visibly under the paper-thin skin of her long neck. It’s… more than a little distracting.

“I’m not saying there’s nothing to do, but I did get up earlier than usual just to spend more time with master Three-Eyes. Our meetings are always a little too short to… quench my thirst.” He almost misses the way her cheeks redden suddenly. He imagines her neck to be one of her weak spots, just a little nib would be enough to make her moan, maybe digging his teeth deeper would even make her co-

“Do as you wish then, Inquisitor,” he turns on his heel abruptly as his pants start feeling a little bit too tight. “I am not your keeper. I just wish to remind you that you ought to have more important things on your mind.”

He walks away in haste, feeling like an utter fool.

An old, angry, jealous fool.

 


End file.
